


Local libero gets adopted by talented volleyball players who started out as meddlers in his love life

by tothemovies (jarofactonbell)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, Homophobic Language, M/M, a mess, asshole childhood bestfriends who love each other, clueless komori is my only headcannon, hinting at relationships throughout because i'm a nosy shit who can't shut up, i was motivated by a lack of fics for these guys and feel the need to contribute, it is rated T solely because teenage boys swear A Lot, less volleyball more tea and gossip, they are ooc but i fully accept it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jarofactonbell/pseuds/tothemovies
Summary: Komori came to this Youth Training Camp thing to make friends - he came out of it with friends who adopted himOr Komori is too dumb to realise Sakusa has an obvious 'gay crush' (K. Hoshiumi, 2k16) on him. Kageyama, Atsumu, Hoshiumi and Chigaya intervene and became implemented in Komori's Befriending Agenda





	Local libero gets adopted by talented volleyball players who started out as meddlers in his love life

**Author's Note:**

> just did an exam, went back home and finished this off. please forgive all mistakes clearly i'm running on sheer determination of Post Now when i posted this 
> 
> fun fact: i actually have heard groups of boys corner the friends of openly gay kids or the gay kids themselves and threatened to 'punch the gay' out of them and it's disgusting and 10% of why i wrote this fic

 

Komori hears Hoshiumi throwing all 172 cm of semi-professional high school volleyball player onto him before his brain even registers _bird child incoming._

The crash could've been way worse and could have blown him off his feet if his body isn't trained to receive impact from unexpectedly heavy flying objects.

_“Komori-san!”_

“Hey,” he grins, clapping the excitable child back, “how've you been?”

“I'm running away from my problems. All of them are my tormentor,” Hoshiumi whispers, conspiratorial.

“Someone wish he could be in your shoes right now,” he winks, tossing his head to Sakusa,  parked on the corner of the auditorium, face pulled distinctly into a Kill Me or I Will Kill Someone frown.

“Sakusa!” Hoshiumi screeches and bounds away, flitting around the ace, riling a reaction out of his friend as a form of catching up.

“Aiya,” Kageyama mutters, “I ran into him yesterday. Still loud and hostile like always.”

“You look like you're suffering, kiddo,” Komori bumps hips with the setter, who braces for his admittedly very violent affection.

 “Suffering is my default mood,” Kageyama blandly replies, accepting everything he's been handed.

 “For real though,” Komori holds him at arms length, “you alright?”

“Atsumu-san is here,” the kid scrunches his face. “Told me my teammates are scrubs. To be honest I don't remember much, just that I really want to fight him.”

“In volleyball, I'm assuming, through a game, I hope,” he hedges, sensing something like deja vu. 

“You can't tell me that when you ran Sakusa-san over in a run up for a ball,” Kageyama’s face twists and sours. 

He cackles so loudly at it's hard to find his breath. Kageyama hisses _it's not funny you could have injured him, or worse, yourself_ by his side, but it's fucking hilarious is what it is. 

“Oh? If it ain't my favourites at nationals,” a voice singsongs, its Kansai inflections striking fear and utter disappointment into the hearts of four there.

Speak of the devil and he will appear.

“Miya,” Sakusa levels a glare. 

“Kiyoomi-kun,” Atsumu _, pain in the arse,_ chirps. “Lovely as always.”

Kageyama throws back his head to the ceiling, begging the ancestors to take his soul and let him die right there right then.

The Atsumu Effect is terrifying. It killed more people and left visibly no survivors that he’s surprised he nagged this kid into a semblance of friendship with him.

But first, he has to rescue Kageyama.

Atsumu had been half conditioned to accept all forms of affection heralding his way and half conditioned by Komori to open his arms for a hug the minute they're next to each other. Obligatory hug aside - they're lying, they both enjoyed it - Atsumu throws a companionable arm around his shoulder, grinning winningly.

“Nationals, hey boys?” 

“Urk,” someone ~~Sakusa who is relentlessly being poked by Hoshiumi~~  mutters. “End me.” 

“No complaints from someone who came out on top!” Atsumu crows, not even a bit malicious. Everyone is picking up Ushiwaka’s terrible habit of stating facts with no emotional attachment in them and it’s doing Komori’s head in. He expects the full scale of anger and the cycle of grief from the leading offensive cannon of Inarizaki, but something must’ve magically happened to Atsumu for him to switch to this passive-aggressive dig at Itachiyama’s win in the interhigh tournaments. 

“We must work hard to maintain the top dog position,” Komori nods wisely. “Kourai, none of that pulling on his hair. You know he punches.”

Hoshiumi relents his tugging, but digs a finger into Sakusa’s shoulder as a parting gift. To his credit, the Infallible Sakusa barely flinches, fixing Hoshiumi with a glare so withering that if it’s on anyone else, they would’ve been digging for their own graves. With their bare hands and nothing else. It’s that terrifying. 

But Hoshiumi is a special brand of dense and immune to Killing Intent, so he breezily flies under the radar and target response of that particular glare. Not that Sakusa doesn’t know beforehand, but he’s handicapped into a corner and he’s not as fast as the zipping little gull boy. Glaring is just his automatic response to danger nowadays. 

Faint announcements are relaying over their heads. Kageyama squints at a lack of a PA system, gauging something. 

“We have two more minutes until I have to go back,” he turns to them monotonously.

Atsumu and Hoshiumi stop their respective ribbing of each other across the room, turning to squint at him. 

“I walk slow,” the youngest boy protests, in full defensive mode. “I also get lost easily.”

“That’s so precious,” Komori coos. “You’re like, 6 foot tall of walking volleyball disaster.” 

“Bro,” Atsumu implores, “who here isn’t?”

“Chigaya,” Sakusa covers up his mouth. “Kid’s got a working brain. Maybe Komori, when he’s had enough sleep and not being a dick.”

“I’m going to kick him hard today in our matches,” Komori smiles, _too_ serenely. He hears Hoshiumi wrangling Sakusa into a shuffling stance and frog-marched over to where Komori is holding custody two setter children, both are too tall and growing too quickly, and he doesn’t appreciate being the shorter one between the two of them.  

“Can you record it?” Chigaya’s voice comes from the steps. “My favs! Oh, Atsumu, you’re here too!”

Atsumu lets go of Komori to fly over for a punch at the boy, who blocks off the poking and playful punching with an easy smile.

Two weeks ago he wouldn’t have the guts to talk to Miya Atsumu. 

“I need to go quick,” Kageyama starts to step away in long strides, “the vice captain is really scary when I’m not on time.”

“Ay, Tobio-kun, we’ll be right,” Atsumu waves the concerned look away. “We’ll run if we have to. Gotta say hi and bye to my favourite boys before we trounce ya asses at nationals first.”

And with that, the animosity returns, at full force.

Komori sighs. It was going so well. But they’re getting there. The rivalry between Kageyama and Atsumu have dwindled to a healthy stage and not an actual declaration of war every time they cross paths. Hoshiumi matured from the runt that picks fights with every moving thing within his sight. Sakusa is...considerably less murderous than before?

Clearly some of them are more advanced than others, but they've progressed somewhat from the training camp and that's the thought that should matter. 

“Bold of you to assume you’ll trounce any asses before I trounce yours.” For someone missing a whole 10 cm plus on the other two, Hoshiumi manages to be condescending and cocky and able to... _glare down at them_. It’s interesting, but also a bit freaky.  

However, he has no time or space for that. They’re here to catch up and pretend to be friends that like each other and tolerate their respective companies. 

“Okay, okay, and we’re done,” he wriggles away. “Come on, you know what to do. No bad blood between us. Come here.” 

To put aside all this tension and weird rivalries, he has a vision where these troublemakers are obliged into giving one Mandatory Hug™ to him when things escalate into possible bloodshed. There is no escaping the Hug. They stare at his open arms with profound doubt, but Sakusa, bless his heart, steps in, just as Chigaya also sidles in close.

It works like a charm - Atsumu no longer looks like he’s contemplating a jump serve onto Kageyama’s face and the other one isn’t looking like he’s ready to act out his built up homicidal intentions since training camp. Hoshiumi is soothed into a chastised version of himself, complacent into just muttering threats without the murder implications.

Sakusa looks bloody ecstatic. That’s good. He should be geared to destroying their opponents that day. 

Somewhere in his head, Chigaya can be heard crowing _maybe it's you giving the hug that makes him happy you dumb bumblebee._  

He dismissed the voice. What does Chigaya know about Sakusa anyway? 

“We're gonna dominate nationals,” Atsumu promises, arms slung over Komori's shoulder.

“Yeah we will!” Hoshiumi hollers, hopping onto Komori’s back.

“Victory,” Kageyama cheers faintly in the background. 

Komori and Chigaya thump him on the back at the same time.

“More feelings, Tobio-kun!” Atsumu directs, swinging his hands like a conductor and ostentatious brat that he is. “Put more conviction into it!” 

“Victory?” Kageyama screws up his eyebrows, questioning himself and the little entourage.

It’s the most feeling they’ve got out of him, admittedly not very _convicted,_ but they’re getting there. Komori bats Atsumu’s tormenting routine away, chiding him softly.  

“You’re going to be great!” Chigaya chirps brightly. “I believe in your skills.”

“Not us as people?” Komori teases. 

Sakusa lowers his face mask. “No offence, Motoya, I don’t think I would extend my trust that far.” 

“Senpai,” Kageyama looks dead at Sakusa. “I believe in you as a person.” To the rest of them, he grunts in a non-answer. “Hmm.”

Hoshiumi screeches up a hissy fit that is much more taller than his current height. _“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”_

Komori stares right at Atsumu and Sakusa, the traitors, who nod in acquiescence. “Oi. Defend my honour.”

But it is Chigaya, sweet little Chigaya who avoids conflict like it’ll give him the bubonic plague, who physically removes himself from any possible opening of conflict - who have been seen booking it fast across a gymnasium before by multiple sources to elude from a cat fight between Atsumu and his beloved _Tobio-kun._ Sources call him _The Flash_ and multiple versions of _Minato Namikaze._ Most interesting are the ones crowning him _Yeet, Broccoli Out._

It is sweet and innocent and cute Chigaya who voices - “Komori-san, I wouldn’t put my trust in you, and that’s saying a lot, given that we have the full spectrum of assholery and jerkishness here with us."

Sakusa chimes in. “I agree fully.”

Kageyama’s muffled complaint of _those aren’t actual words_ is drowned out by Komori’s offended screech of _That’s so rude! You take that back! You’re supposed to be on my side!_

 

(“Hey, you two good?” Hoshiumi whispers to Sakusa.

“Yeah,” the unperturbed eyes warm, just briefly, “it's as good as it can get.”

Miya and Chigaya beam at them when Hoshiumi relay the message. Interference mission: success.)

 

So how did the six most disagreeable brats in the whole of Japan are on speaking terms with each other? How are they almost... _friends?_  

If you ask Komori, they most certainly are friends. Any other boy there will just mumble an unintelligible answer. It's not a _no_ , and it's not quite a _yes_ either. 

It certainly hasn't always been this...peaceful and lovely, with everyone loving everyone. that last part is a bit of a lie, but they're on their way there. Komori is ambitious. He'll exert his force over them so much that they'll interact and god forbid, be friends on their own.

See, this is all a part of his revised and ongoing genda. First it was Make New Friends; Adopt Some Volleyball Genius Children. Then it underwent editing to Maintain Avengers Lineup So They Won't Kill Each Other. The final draft was something like Make Avengers Children Be friends By Themselves, reinforced through sheer will of psychological manipulation and classical conditioning.

His plan already set in motion from Sakusa, and kicked off nicely with the premise with the youth training camp.

It had only took Komori a decade or so to wear Sakusa down to the complacency he is now. Komori braves the title of being especially burdensome when it comes to befriending others - because he too is very difficult to be friends with, a guy who makes too many snide comments that are thoughtless, borderline bullying, crude and inconsiderate - that when Sakusa, someone who only ever let concept of dirt bothers him, gave him the green light - Komori latched. Transformed himself into his final evolution as a barnacle boy and never once let go of Sakusa. 

They became friends, or something like that.

It worked itself out-ish _._ Sakusa hadn't dished out one of his patented You’re-on-every-one-of-my-fucking-nerves Spikes™ since first year of middle school, so Komori had been reassured in his lack of injuries that he's safe.  

Then. The other kids.

He has his eyes specifically on a few. The best few. The _select_ few. Kageyama from Karasuno, the crow that brought down Sakusa’s beloved ‘Ushiwaka’ Ushijima Wakatoshi. Very serious kid, freakishly tall, has a volleyball for a brain, probably, but earnest and honest. Chigaya from the renowned Shinzen High who specialises in block and serve combination attacks, a fun personality hiding under that broccoli hair of his. These as the chosen children who would then ascend up his friendship ladder.  

It's not like it was exactly _occupied_ in the first place, but it's good to be optimistic. 

Chigaya and Kageyama together don’t have any issues - they know each other from before, the grapevines informed him that Karasuno latched onto the Fukurodani School group and attended their annual training camp. It must be why the two first years consistently come as a set outside of practice drills. They generally don't approach other players, don't start fights, stay out of trouble, so Komori had his sight set on them. Peaceful, actively avoiding trouble children. It’s a miracle. They’re godsends. 

They're a significant dot point on his agenda to _extending my social circles,_ a list with disappointing constituents like Kiyoomi, extended family, Itachiyama volleyball team and Yuri (cat). It's a _shitty_ and _bloody empty_ list, as his captain laughed at him, but fuck him, what does he know? He’s got normal friends and a life outside of volleyball, he’s basically a different species to what Komori is. He’s disqualified and outside of the target range that he’s set on. That’s why the Pessimistic Captain Voice can lower down the volume and watch. He is set on extending his social circle. His agenda will be met. 

 _How will ya make friends, you disagreeable brat?_ The Captain Voice reasonably asked, once upon a time.

That was rude. He’s a great friend to have. He’s just very selective on who to be friends with.

His method of latching on friends hasn't failed him thus far, but it's only been tested and tried on Sakusa, who really isn’t the most reliable data in comparison to the norm, but _it worked, alright, they're friends now,_ so he's going to try again. Chigaya and Kageyama will be his friends, his adopted volleyball babies, even if he has to bathe the brats a couple of times like he had Sakusa to force them to friendship.  

He has a plan and shit, alright, he wasn't going to charge into someone's personal space and throw knives at them while chanting BE MY FRIEND, CHILDREN. He shared his ambitions with Sakusa who rudely plugged earphones in after Komori’s third pestering session in the one day about his Conquest of Friendship. 

“You're so annoying,” Sakusa frowned down at him.

There's nearly 10 cm between their eyes but _fuck it_ if Komori would let that deter him from glaring up at this punk.  

“You're annoying,” he hissed right back. “Urgh, I'll just go out there and get a new best friend. You are such a terrible one. I can't even go anywhere with you.”

And of course, it was Sakusa who ruined all of plan A.

They're a practice session in and it’s lunch time, Komori was getting psyched. He’s going to walk up, not too eagerly, to where Kageyama and Chigaya would be sitting, he’s going to strike conversations, they’re going to talk and _get along,_  he’s going to promise to see them at dinner -

 Sakusa marched right past Komori, right at Kageyama and glared down at him. 

He then fucking _undermined_ the still doubtful Karasuno performance against Shiratorizawa and he had had up to _here_ with this brat interfering with his plans, so he ground his teeth into his most aggressive World Peace Smile™, shoved Sakusa out of Kageyama’s field of vision, and attempted to salvage his team name. Friendship can wait. The captain would fry them in his merry little witchy feast if Komori gets kicked out along with Sakusa because they’ve been picking fights with kiddy first years on a _national youth training camp, for solidarity and comradeship and making friends through high-calibre volleyball._ He’s here as an unspoken caretaker of this brat Sakusa. He can’t put his own agenda on top of maintaining a false sense of righteousness that Itachiyama is loosely posing about.

“Hey, sorry about this,” he beamed at Kageyama, who was unperturbed from when Sakusa marched over and told him his team won because Wakatoshi wasn’t in top form. He wanted to add that _Sakusa gets weirdly defensive about Wakatoshi and he would literally die if he has to be directly nice to anyone,_ **_ever_ ** _._ “This guy is kinda,” the most fucking hostile, murderous bitch baby this side of Japan, “the most utterly pessimistic person you’ll find on the whole planet!” 

The cafeteria dipped into nervous silence. Komori was sure he scored a guest appearance on Stupid Death - cause of death: volleyball spike, to the head, death on impact. Booked a one way ticket to the afterlife with that ‘utterly pessimistic person’ phrase in the face of a stranger, in regard to Sakusa. 

 _Goodbye life on earth._ Not only did he piss off his best friend - his only friend, let’s be real here, he also pissed off the kid with the nastiest swing on a volleyball at a velocity of 150 km/h at his worst performance, a nationally acclaimed spiker, in the top fucking 3 of Japan high school volleyball, the youngest in the top five - and a guy who takes his grudges to the _grave._  

He’s dead. He’s a dead man walking.

But Komori remembered himself, remembered what he stands for. He is Komori Motoya and Sakusa may carry his grudges to the grave, but Komori makes up for his friend’s murderous temperament by being petty as hell. He’s not passive about his insults _at all_ . He would just fling them out in the open. Have them flood on top of Sakusa’s baby curls. Drown the brat in the words. When he’s petty and pissed, it’s _war._  

Right then?

Maximum Petty Hour: [O-fucking-PENS] 

He plastered on a shit-eating grin, though to outsiders, it would appear friendly and warm and cutesy, and began barraging the kiddies with backhanded insults, one after another. 

“Right now, he **_thinks_ ** his shoulder isn’t feeling up to snuff. _Though it’s almost always completely in his head._ **_Oh well!_ ** _There’s nothing_ **_bad_ ** _about being careful,_ **_right?_ ** _Better safe than sorry, they say!”_  

It’s a complete war zone, and he’s going to come out _right at the very top, sniff the back of my shoes, Sakusa Kiyoomi._  

Sakusa turned away, the first sign of defeat.

Then he declared that he was going to take a bath. 

Fucking. Victory. 

The brat stalked away, murder and shame all in his gloom and doom aesthetic.

Komori was _owning it._

He ends that spectacularly petty tirade with a cheery - “Oh well, gotta go! Sorry to bug you!” footing it after Sakusa.  


To nobody’s surprise, he gets locked out of the bathroom. 

That’s fine. Two can play this game. He can wait. He’s great at waiting - 

Something is nudging him. Why is there something prodding -

Sakusa is in his field of vision, wet strands of hair dropping onto his eyes, the pits of hell staring right back at him.

Oh fuck. He fell asleep. He fell asleep and now Sakusa found him at his weakest - minutes after waking. He's going to be murdered in five seconds flat and nobody will know where his body parts will be and the captain will unearth his arms so they can play in nationals even though he shouldn’t know where Sakusa buried him - 

“What,” Sakusa frowns at his posture, his face, his existence, disapproval tinting his words, “are you doing.”

It's even worse that it's not phrased as a question. He's just in confused about how much further of a Disappointment can Komori achieve. It's like levelling up for him in a game, except being a disappointment, capitalised and all, isn't really that glorious - he's being shamed down instead of praised up - and it has a terrible ring to it. Disappointment Ladder. 

Unfortunately and thus, hastening his own downfall, Komori is still running on leftover steam from his latest Hissy Fit, so he pulls his shoulders closer to his neck, retreating onto himself.  “What does it look like I'm doing?” 

“I don't know, _Komori_ , you look like you're waiting for someone at the bath,” the stupid blockhead of a best friend of his drawls stupidly.

“I don't know, Kiyoomi-chan,” he counters right back, “who could I be waiting for?”

“There are lots of people here, it could be anyone -”

Komori knows Sakusa is prissy about touching, but there are exceptions to be made, stretching room to accommodate _him,_ mainly. He surges forward, head nearly slamming onto Sakusa's lead level thick one, brows drawn tight together.

“I was waiting for you, dumbass, so I can rat you out even further from before. What were you _thinking_ , going around picking fights with kids?”

“I'm being cautious,” Sakusa defends stiffly. 

“Then size up Miya Atsumu,” he hisses. “Hoshiumi! The possibilities are endless! Why Kageyama? You met him before or something? Did he cough on you? Did he kick you off the top 3 ace post and claim it for himself?”

There's a fingertip space between them, but he's making tabs on how close he is, and shifts every  now and then so that they don't actually make contact. When Sakusa gets spooked, he gets violent, and _fast._

“No!” Sakusa denies hotly. “You kept rambling on and out about him that it was so annoying and he beat Wakatoshi -” 

“Why the fuck am I one of the reasons why you picked a fight with a kid? Think of the team. Consider the fact that you might be kicked off this camp. Think of the captain and the practice drills.” He stresses, the migraines accumulating from the years and bursting at this point. “Don't be stupid, _Sakusa_. We're here as reps from our school. We gotta keep up face.”

“I know,” Sakusa forces the acquiescence from somewhere deep, dark, ugly and logical inside his gut. “I just lost my head a little." 

“Never let me come before the team,” Komori sighs, sagging. 

“Say that on the court, idiot,” Sakusa scoffs. “It doesn't apply across all situations.” 

“Uh, right then, it did,” he injects as much _uh duh_ as he can manage. “You big buffoon. Next time I'm hurling you across the cafeteria.” 

“I'm going to murder you if that happens,” Sakusa threatens, but it's empty as far as threats he dished out had gone.

“I am so scared,” he returns blandly. “Also, help me up. I can't feel my legs.”

They get into their customary scuffles as Sakusa gets pinched and kicks him as he swings up. The tall brat trails after him into the bath to collect his things while he showers with superhuman speed, complaining as Sakusa chimes in now and then with the sheer purpose of annoying him to _death._  

“Why won't you let me make friends on my own, Kiyoomi?” He towel dries his hair, catching all the strands inside the towel. “You interrupted my plans and made an ass out of the both of us.”

“Not everything is my fault,” Sakusa frowns, already slotting in socks. Komori clicks his tongue, automatically reprimanding his friend about wet floors and wet everything,  staring critically at the mop of drying curls on top of Sakusa's head.

“Not everything is your fault, kid, but this one kinda had your name plastered all over it,” he scoffs, taking out another towel. “Dry your hair properly.’ 

“You didn't have to completely trash me out there then, should have just left me be an idiot by myself,” Sakusa accepts the towel and fumbles with it, patting his hair cautiously, like it would eat him alive if he touches the strands too roughly. 

 _This brat would die without Komori keeping tabs on him. Actually drop dead._  

He sighs, crooking his finger. It's their own little sign for _bend down._ They use these occasionally, when words are too tiresome and there was a brief period of time that Sakusa did something to piss Komori off - something that even he with his stellar memory forgot - and they communicated solely through these signs. Sakusa bends before he processes why and stays stiffly in that 10 cm gap between Komori aggressively towel drying his hair, thoughts so loud even Komori can hear them. 

“If I don't use the signs, you would literally never listen,” he explains. “I Pavlov-ed that shit into you for countermeasures against your violent,” he wants to phrase things nicely with _mood swings_ but all the Big Three are allergic to that particular phrasing because of Bokuto, so he switches it with blunt truths, “violent lashing outs. So here we are. Don't give me that look. You would have been more than ready to deck me if I had asked you for me to dry your hair, which, by the way, is done.” 

Sakusa grumbles and even though he hates it, bends himself into a bow of forced gratitude. Komori waves him away, plotting on how to best befriend Kageyama in the afternoon practice, with the aftermath of his shitty best friend crashing the provisions of plan A. 

Plan B is in motion. He's got the ball rolling. 

“Play nice, Kiyoomi,” he calls out.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sakusa puts on his mask. “I will, I will.” 

“Ki-chan.” 

“What.” 

“I didn't have to get involved, but we come as a set, and I have responsibility over us two to protect the school name, which I kinda wrecked, but oh well. I got involved, genius,” he stashes the towels away, “was because I got pissed you picked on the kids after hearing I was interested in befriending him. It's like you're making it even harder for me to make friends outside of you. I genuinely am trying to follow the timeline of our friendship and the history is telling us this is the break that you need and you should abet into fruition. Why didn't ya?”

Sakusa doesn't say anything in the long strides he takes to the doorway. Turning back, his eyes hold a shade of _significantly pissed at your bullshit_ to them. 

“I don't know, _Motoya_ ,” Komori flinches at the unusual acidity of his own name, “maybe I'm trying to monopolise you.”

Before Komori can get the satisfaction of having the last word, Sakusa storms away, more pissed than when they started out with.

“That makes no fucking sense!” He screams inside his head. 

The very useful Captain Pessimistic in his brain starts booing at him. _For being an idiot._  


Frankly, Sakusa is a bitch baby, and he's such a handful. They've split into different sides and he can feel the murderous intent radiating off the brat on the other side of the net, ready to break his arm in a special limited edition Murder Spike™. 

“Um,” Chigaya approaches him. “Are you going to be alright?” 

“Why would I not be?” He wonders, confused. “I won't stretch anything, don’t worry. I've done all the warm ups, I've got this under wraps,” he flashes a winning smile in the face of death. 

Chigaya seems mildly concerned. “If you say so.”

Komori busies himself by tuning him out, polite smile fixed on his face. 

Kageyama draws Chigaya aside.

“Just leave all the serves to him,” he stares at the libero. “He'll handle them just fine.” _Because he’s a libero, it kinda is in his job description._

“Is it just me or can anyone else feel the murder intent from over there? You sure we can't just shuffle a bit back, bunch up a little, so that we can support him?” Chigaya flickers his eyes to the source of emanating intent, provoked further by a Miya Atsumu slapping him by the shoulders, aggravating the situation. 

“Nah,” Kageyama insists. “They'll sort it out during the match.”

The other boy pales. “How the fuck is anyone meant to solve anything during a match? It's not a counselling room? There is literally no conflict resolution? It'll solve nothing? Oh my god, I'm an accessory to abeted murder. Someone’s gonna be executed zakuza-style before my eyes and I didn’t do anything to interfere with it.” 

“You'll be fine,” Kageyama tells him, calm and perplexed as to why his broccoli friend is so shaken up by the duo at lunch. Sakusa and his friend seem to be going through a rough patch. So do Kageyama and Hinata occasionally. So does everyone else. 

Physically taking it out in a game of volleyball would fine tune their concerns and dig out what is the matter at heart. It’s a tested and proven method with high accuracy rates. It worked before for him, and he’s a _hard one to talk about feelings_ or something- whispers of Sugawara-san are highly audible, so it’ll work out for the tall libero & Sakusa unit.

When Sakusa plays, he makes all necessary precautions and careful calculations to achieve the _maximum impact for point scoring._  

Komori felt that intensity in the spike that he returned, while splendidly and in a beautiful arc to Kageyama to set up, hurt like a Mjolnir with lightning and thunder blaring came at him with a murder agenda.

Looking at the situation, it might as well be that.

This kid is out for blood. Other more sensible souls who have basic grasp of danger awareness have parted like Moses himself was walking through the court, the patented Itachiyama Top Ace Murder Line Shot™ ordaining people to dive for their lives and promptly out of its path. Someone screamed a little when the spike came zipping down and smashing onto the boundary lines, missing their hair by _that_ much.  

Near-missers have all attest to the universal truth of _and then I saw my life flashed before my eyes and I had a burst of devotion for religion, even though the Big Man upstairs probably won't interfere with these inhumane actions._  

Kageyama stares at the spike, stares at Sakusa in a distinct frown, and flicks his eyes to Komori in vague concern. 

 _I’m alright,_ Komori grins winningly. _Fuckin’ stellar, really._   

Komori steels his core muscles, shit eating grin slicing up one side of his face. _Bring it, homicidal brat._  

Sakusa returns the sentiment in increasingly harder and harder spikes.

 

Kageyama meanwhile is locked deep within a glaring match with Miya. That’s going to be a problem if it escalates int0 Miya becoming a murder statistic. There's bad blood there, and Komori needs to break it up. For the sake of his sanity and the salvation of his potential friendship with Kageyama. Possibly Miya if he's feeling like he doesn't need _accessory to murder_ on his conscience and criminal record, not that he has any in the first place. Conscience, that is, not charges to being an accessory to murder.

At the net, problem child Hoshiumi Kourai, tiny One Man Army from Kamomedai, remains deep in conflict with Sakusa. Kid's disqualified from making the shortlist to Komori's exclusive friendship group because he, well, after the match, he comes up to Kageyama and starts interrogating the poor boy on where he's seen him before. He's a menace and he thrives solely on attention on his admittedly very skilled plays. While his focus isn’t solely on one person, Hoshiumi makes it his personal mission to fight each and every person at that camp who doesn't acknowledge his skills, which is a large majority, because nobody there gets spooked by anything high calibre anymore. Sakusa came close to spiking a ball at his face the other day due to the sheer force of screaming boy energy he was projecting. Komori is reminded, time and again, that for all his shenanigans and bullshit, Sakusa and him as a unit aren't that bad in comparison to the human equivalent of a hurricane that is Hoshiumi Kourai. He could bend light and master the Force at the rate he's going if those are what he aspires to attain. 

Hoshiumi zips across the court and slams down spikes and spikes down tosses. He's terrifying, and he barely gets phased in the face first encounter with the Moses Departing Spikes™ Sakusa is dispensing out like a particularly pissed off vending machine fuelled by hate of other humans and Komori. Neither of those aliens flaunting human skin are humans, and Komori bears the full brunt of their airborne battles with the rattling bones of his forearm, soon to get crushed into fine mortar with how much sledgehammering had been inflicted onto them. 

Captain is going to have a _field day_ when he sees how battered Komori ends up. He's going to _rip_ them a new one when he finds out that it's Sakusa having bitch fits over Komori acting out his whims.

They have solved nothing during the match, except cementing that Sakusa and Komori are equally assholish to each other and downright cruel. Opposite sides of the net barely could hold them back, and the duo of genius setters glance around at them occasionally, baited enough to emerge from their bickering and rivalry to cast worried glances at Komori's bruising arms.

 

But surprisingly, it is Hoshiumi who comes up to him. “What did you do to piss off Sakusa?”

“Motoya pissed himself off. I was only an innocent bystander,” he quips back, nose upturned in the air. 

“Right,” the fake blonde child widens his gull eyes, nodding excessively, “keep telling yaself that.” 

“Sometimes Motoya is angry enough for the both of us. Sometimes he's just unhappy with himself. It's a shocking revelation, but occasionally we have diverging thoughts. We don't exactly share the same brain or feelings.” His eyes are not on Hoshiumi, for fear of him and his intense stare worsening the situation and adding possible assault charges on his criminal record that is spotless thus far. It's going to remain spotless, damn it, no gull looking brat is going to taint his honour and name in the face of the law.

He hopes he isn't vibing murder tunes. That could be counterproductive. 

“Damn boy, down,” Hoshiumi whistles. “No need to flash your fangs.” 

 _“I wasn't!”_  

“You totally are,” Hoshiumi’s eyes flash with something like sympathy. “Are you alright?” 

“I didn't think you'd be the type to care, Hoshiumi-san,” a corner of his mouth twists, a cruel edge to his smile. 

Hoshiumi keeps staring, deeply unimpressed. 

“No, I'm not,” he relents, “but I'll get over it. Motoya should as well.” 

“For two people who are fighting, ya sure throw each other's names around a lot,” the boy taps a finger to his mouth. 

“What of it?” _Is it not normal to accuse other and use their names when in a fight_ , he wants to say, but keeps the words inside his throat.

“Well, if it's nothing to you, then it's nothing to you,” Hoshiumi shrugs, gathering volleyballs under his arms. “Why's he mad anyways?”

“Didn't want me to make friends outside of him,” he flutters a hand, huffing as he recalls their spat in the bathroom. “Think it's stupid.”

Someone drops a bottle near them. Chigaya is seen staring, wide eyed. 

“He doesn't want you to have friends besides him?” Chigaya repeats, suddenly _very_ interested in Komori and his affairs.  

“Yes?” He leans back. “What of it?” 

“Monopolistic much, Sakusa,” Hoshiumi whistles. 

Komori slaps his knees. “He said that too!”

Chigaya and Hoshiumi, in a moment of sharing one brain cell energy, turn and state at each other, then at him, eyes wide. 

“Komori-san,” Chigaya slowly whispers, “you're a great volleyball player and I appreciate you being here with us mortals -”

“- but you're a fucking dumbass whose skull is so dense I could crack coconuts on it,” Hoshiumi finishes and stomps away. “Let him figure it out by himself, Broccoli-kun!”

Chigaya claps his hands into the praying position, bows, then runs after Hoshiumi, who is still spazzing about Komori being dumb.

Sincerely though, _what._

  


Kageyama walks into the gym and the whispers proliferate.

“Urk,” Uchida from some school in Sapporo winces, “he's here.”

"Oh?” A first year from Akita perks up. “Oh no.”

“Pretend like you're busy.”

_“I am, I am!”_

Kageyama can hear them, thank you very much, and it’s irritating. He has a team, who works well with him and connects plays, and he knows his own abilities to sync up with spikers. Technically, things are all functioning on the court, but outside of it interactions aren't just working out with other players.

It's his role to make sure they can hit his tosses. It's in the process of sorting itself out. Fine. He's been here for sixteen hours, he can't do everything just yet. But Miya Atsumu found flaws in that, flaws in how he cannot assimilate into friendship groups and maintain the high quality of sets simultaneously.

“Tobio-kun ~” Miya Atsumu sang, his patented Atsumu Smile™ firmly in place, very much to aggravate his only tormentee at this camp, Kageyama. “What a goody two shoe you are.”

 _Breathe. In. Out. Calm down. The team will_ **_murder_ ** _you if you serve a ball right at someone's face. The team will make sure you will never have a chance to continue to nationals if you break the fingers of the number one high school server and setter in Japan._

He's so irritatingly good at setting that Kageyama has doubts that maybe he should just _never set again._ The sense of deja vu from the Seijoh match, pitting head to head with Oikawa-san, pays a visit. _Ya ain't good enough,_ the nagging self doubt singsongs, _quit while you're ahead._

Thanks.

He needed that.

Naturally, Miya Atsumu wanders by him. Naturally, he jeers, with all the malice in his gleaming white teeth. _Watch your back, Tobio-kun. Imma dethrone you from that setter spot._

That glare he received would have killed much weaker and smarter men, but Miya Atsumu is a concoction of immunity against nonverbal cues and superior selective processing of his surroundings, so he breezes through murderous glares with a refreshing air of _I have no idea why people are mad with me_ and the anger Kageyama felt was enough to deflate a fully pumped volleyball with his bare hands.

“Why are you trying to crush the ball, brat?” A voice demands that he gives an answer.

Literally nobody here talks like that except for _him._

“Hoshiumi-san,” he answers, wearied. “How can I help.”

Miya breezes by again. Hoshiumi takes a moment to process that information and squats down next to him, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Do ya see Sakusa having an obvious gay crush on Komori,” Hoshiumi asks, except it's phrased more as a fact - a rhetorical question if he's willing to push it that far.

Kageyama is so confused he forgets to be vindictive.

 _“I'm sorry but what,”_ his eyes twitch as he shuffles over to face Hoshiumi.

“The gay crush, Weird Triangle Bangs, d’ya see it, yes or no,” the fake blonde reiterates, like the first time wasn’t enough to haunt Kageyama for the next week.

_“Obviously I heard you the first ti-”_

Hoshiumi doesn't really listen to his plaintive cry, interrupting him mid sentence. “Great, so we're going to intervene.”

 _“You can't just come out of nowhere and demand that from someone who you just picked a fight with yesterday!”_ He hisses, fully aware he's throwing a fit, but finding no space in him to care. He has to be responsible in Karasuno because of the starting setter business, but here in the training camp he is the youngest, and he fully intends to act like the fourteen year old brat he never quite got the chance, time or opportunity to.

He adds a patented Now Go Die™ glare on top of his hissing, which scares away a good 99% of the population on dispensation.

Hoshiumi blinks. “So is that a no?”

 _His glares normally affect people, but to Hoshiumi, they aren't. They are effective, except for these aliens whose brains teem with only_ **_volleyball volleyball volleyball._ **

Contrary to popular beliefs, Kageyama does actually use his head for things other than volleyball - and the situation at hand calls for all his brain cells to be in full functional mode.

“It’s a why do you care anyways?” He snarls, only half hostile, because he's still angry and also confused as to the stakes Hoshiumi has to be this invested in this couple squabble.

“Because I played Sakusa at his peak and he's ridiculously strong, but nobody can pit against him at his best if he keeps on fighting with his gay crush, now, ain't he?”

The reasoning is solid - and for the most parts, Kageyama agrees to the grounds set out by Hoshiumi, who is oddly altruistic and looking out for the greater good.

That and he really hates it when people don't play at their peak capacity, because it'll be an insult to him and his calibre and his family name or whatever.

“Why do you insist on calling it a _gay_ crush anyways,” Kageyama hopes it's a good enough diversion, because heck if he's roped into this meddling deal. “It's just a crush. There is no sexuality about crushes. You like who you like.”

Sugawara would be proud to hear him explicitly state that to a completely new stranger who could be a potential homophobe -

“Ay, ya right,” Hoshiumi nods, like it makes sense to him. “Maybe I just like knowing the fact that me and my boyfriend aren't the only queer folks around here.”

Okay then. That's...unexpected.

Kageyama's words trip in embarrassing successions out of his mouth. “That's good! Wait - no, I mean - uh, good that you are comfortable - what do I know, what if you aren't - are you alright telling me this -”

Hoshiumi obviously doesn't have time for this - “Have your breakdown later, kid. Yes or no to the intervention?”

“Is this like, for the good of volleyball, or for gay rights, because I support both, but I just want to gauge motive -”

Hoshiumi beams at him, genuine and boyish and sunshine-y.

He dobbed himself in. As soon as the words left him and into the realm of the wide world where they can be twisted into meanings he didn't intend, he knows he signed himself up to a contract and bound by the volleyball gods to carry out his duties.

‘“Are you saying yes then?”

“I'm asking what are the stakes for your particular intervention, not an outright _yes_ -”

“Who are we intervening?” Chigaya jogs over to them, gripping containers of strawberry milk. Clearly the question was mere greeting, and meant to lie in obscurity at the furthest pits of Chigaya’s attention span for he doesn’t pause to heed an answer from either party. “W should stage an intervention to stop Atsumu from trying to murder someone by the vending machine.”

“Breathing in the same air as Miya is murderous enough for a pair of lungs,” Hoshiumi points out.

“That's very true,” Chigaya nods, completely unphased, like he's possessed by a higher power and has no room to fear anyone now besides his crippling anxiety. “But if we leave that situation be, police investigation will cut short this camp and I'm not happy to be home yet. I don't think you would be as well. Please help. It's very urgent. He listens only to three people and the two of you are like, one and a half of them.”

“I remember you with less gusto,” Hoshiumi hums, rising to his feet.

“I think I’m possessed by the volleyball mania in me to fuel this absolute obligation to pull Miya away from becoming a juvenile criminal at the tender age of sixteen,” Chigaya returns, bland and wearied. “Kageyama, you in?”

“Kageyama, we're going. Broccoli, come here, we’ll have to drag him.”

He doesn't even know why or how he's even implicated in this, just that by the time he blinks, he's holding back Hoshiumi from launching kicks to a couple of guys from Akita, who may or may not resemble the ones who whispered about him in the morning.

Chigaya has a hand out, barring Miya from also tearing the boys a new one. Admittedly it’s a very subpar method of containing a force of pure chaos such as the second year, but Chigaya doesn’t look then to care much if assault unfolds before him. Not when the victims would be the ones in front of him.

“Why are you all banding up?” Uchida or some guy smirks. “Thought ya hate each other.”

Miya cackle, malice dripping from his voice. “Yeah, but now you made us hate you, so who's laughing now?”

“No,” Kageyama hisses to a struggling Hoshiumi. “Let's not make a scene.”

“Miya, yer a sensible guy,” the extra number 5 giggles. “Tell your circus troupe to stop defending the homo show and just let us punch a few good ones into ‘em, get rid of all the gay. That way we'll all be happy.”

Oh.

_Oh?_

There it is. There’s the fuse. He's been nursing a steady buildup from his shaky realisation that he may not be the best that he can be, but _fucking_ this -

His team and various others have queer individuals within their makeup. Oikawa-san himself has an embarrassing flirting routine with Iwaizumi-san. Kiyoko-san is asexual. His neighbour Shizuka. Sugawara-senpai with his fluid identity. The girls from his middle school. Class president from 2-B.

Thinking about these people and the gall of these uninformed and criminalistic cretins to even entertain a possibility of punching the gay out of someone, like it's a _disease_ , fills him with absolute, deep, burning _rage_.

He loosens his grip on Hoshiumi and takes a step. Then two.

His face is the one that people see in their deepest, darkest nightmare. He is not one bit apologetic for looking so.

Miya Atsumu faintly cheers as the crowd of extras retreat in their collective.

 _“Beat. The. Gay. Out. Of. Peo. Ple._ **_Huh_ ** _?”_ He snarls, feral, a note of brutality in the accentuating words, fist curling and slamming onto the wall next to him.

Someone swallows a muffled scream. Someone actually screams.

“I suggest you scram,” Chigaya cheerfully informs the mass of discriminatory morons, even adding a Queen wave as the crowd shifts and shuffles back. “Before you become another line on his blacklist!”

“Look at ‘em go,” Atsumu whistles. “Good on ya, Tobio-kun.”

Hoshiumi touches his arm, watching him carefully. “Kageyama.”

“Who were they talking about?” He’s trying hard to keep the tremors from his voice, but it’s proving very difficult. His eyes are firmly attached to the floor and his feet, hands curling and uncurling.

“It’s nothing to worry about, Tobio,” Atsumu’s voice softens. There’s no honorific. Something must be really wrong.

“Who,” he repeats. It’s not a question.

There is an aggrieved sigh. Then Chigaya answers, even though Kageyama had an inkling of it. “Komori and Sakusa.”

“Are they out openly? How do these guys know? Did we accidentally out -”

“Kageyama, Kageyama, breathe,” Chigaya kneels down. “It’s… we’re not sure ourselves as to how they know about those two’s sexualities, but it’s a combination of how they act around each other, us talking loudly and their lucky guess. No one’s denying or confirming anything. It could have just been them running their mouths at anything that might unravel us. Breathe. It’ll be alright. We’ll work something out.”

“Oh word, did we break him or something.” He hears faintly.

“Atsumu-san.” Someone scolds. “He's going to punch you if you keep talking.”

Someone runs to get someone else. Hoshiumi keeps a firm grip on his arm unflinchingly, even as he gnashes his teeth and twitches with the barely contained fury still festering inside of him. _How dare these boys talk about people like that? How is it possible for a bunch of brats to discuss assault and violence onto a group of people without a moment's regard to legality or morality? How the fuck do they talk about discrimination and not feel an ounce of guilt while doing it?_

“Breathe,” Hoshiumi instructs. “Listen to my voice. Breathe.”

Someone crashes bodily into Kageyama, knocking him and his peg off the concentrated rage and homicidal urges route. Komori Motoya seems just as confused as he is - how he crashed into Kageyama suggests that he was thrown - but the libero readily opens his arms and draws him in for a hug.

“What,” he asks, hoping someone somewhere, has an answer. There's no answer, predictably. Damn. Now he has to generate answers to unanswerable events.

Things were much better when all the answers are laid out in front of him.

Komori pats the top of his head, the little 2cm between them not that much of an obstacle for him to turn his head into Komori's shoulder, shuddering.

“I don't know what happened, but punching it out won’t be the best possible solution right now, trust me, I would know,” the older boy firmly presses fingers into his scalp, trying to knead the frustration of the last five minutes out of his brain.

“Sakusa-san really put you up the wall there, huh,” Atsumu’s voice veers into something dangerous-sounding and a note of gleeful sadism.

“You’ve no idea, kiddo,” Komori snorts. There’s a note of fondness. In the background, squeals of _kabedon situation kabed - ow, fuck you, stop hurting me!_ ring, but Kageyama could care less, trembling hands still pressed between Komori’s calloused fingers.

 _Aish_. How troublesome. He’s making a mess of what had already happened. He should get up and apologise for causing all the inconvenien -

“Hey,” he looks up to meet eyes with Komori, golden eyes round and warm. “You’re alright.”

“Yeah! You should be! We’ll have to beat those asses to hell and back!” Hoshiumi is transformed in an instance, losing all the edges he harboured before.

There is, however, the question that hangs in the unspoken gaps. _You want in or not, kid?_  

“Aiyo, so loud,” Chigaya tells him, good-naturedly, obviously.

“Wanna say that again, you overgrown vegetable? Huh? Huh? I’ll grind your bones to dust, you little offshoot. I’ll dine from your kneecaps -”

“So energetic,” Chigaya sighs, despite sounding tremulous and ready to bolt. He’s really holding onto his last bits of bravado. “It brings memories of the Loudmouthed Duo from Karasuno, except you’re one person bearing the noise pollution for two.”

"You’re so calm it gives me the creeps,” Atsumu shivers.

Chigaya doesn’t say anything, just hums. _Yeah, it’s wearing off now. I’ll be back to my usual scaredy cat soon enough._

“Also, Motoya,” Atsumu turns to him.

“No,” Komori replies, even without hearing the rest of what he has to say.

“Aww, I was gonna ask yer somethin’ ‘bout Sakusa -”

“Which is all fine and good, but nobody get to call me Motoya besides Kiyoomi. Knock it off, ask him yourself,” the libero smiles acidly.

“Prickly,” Atsumu whispers. “So defensive of each other.”

“That’s rich, coming from Sir Cactus, Your Most Esteemed Prickliness himself,” Chigaya yawns. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.”

“Doesn’t mean ya get ta go around and spreadin’ these lies for me ya turd! Broccoli head! Bullyin’ rude junior!”

“Stop this bickering,” Komori shushes them, the note of non-interference clear in his voice. His eyes glance down again, meeting Kageyama’s blue. “Kageyama, are you alright now?”

Kageyama is more than alright. Kageyama is ready to _crush some skulls at practice matches today._

He stares right at Hoshiumi, seething. _“I’m intervening. For the gays. But before that, we crush them.”_

“That’s the spirit!” The blonde flicks him a thumb up. “We’re gonna be indestructible!”

  


“What are our plans of action?” Kageyama holds Chigaya by the back of his shirt, he who hangs limply like a ragdoll as soon as all the trauma and stress bleed him dry. He currently can’t make eye contact with Atsumu and the Kansai native takes absolute glee in discovering this fact.

“Separate Sakusa and Komori. Tell Sakusa to either resolve the tension or set it aside. Then we leave them,” Hoshiumi hammers out the three sentences with precise efficiency, all drill sergeant and no bullshit.

“Separation sounds so simple in words but so hard to achieve in actions,” Atsumu sighs forlornly.

Hoshiumi twitches, a minute movement that indicates he will be inclined to break something if Atsumu doesn't shut it in the next two seconds.

Kageyama steps in between them. “How come?”

Atsumu doesn't regale them with words - he simply pulls the peanut gallery to gymnasium number 2, tossing his head inside.

Lo and behold, the oblivious couple are back at it again, screeching at each other. They’re at each other's throats, hissing and calling out names - typical behaviour of any bickering.

What is odd is the sight of their locked fingers, clashing heavily with the homicidal twist in Sakusa's eyes and the teeth gnashing Komori has going on.

“I don't like the fact that you claimed monopoly over who I can be friends with!” Komori pulls on a finger.

“It would be much better if you treat them like friends!” Sakusa snarls back, pulling Komori to him.

It sounds like a completely pointless argument, because they're arguing at two different wavelengths. What's even more confusing is the sight of the interlocking fingers, not even moving apart.

They're holding hands _and_ yelling at each other.

Komori notices the hands and tries to wring himself away, to the failure of Sakusa’s hands entwining with him not two seconds after.

"What.” Kageyama observes, tone entirely flat. “Is that.”

“They're gonna break each other's fingers at this rate,” Chigaya blinks. “Holy - can they _play_ with broken fingers?”

Kageyama is quick to volunteer Tsukishima, but the bastard only fractured a pinkie and he did it while blocking the Ushijima's patented Top Ace in Miyagi Murder Shot™. Having your fingers broken by a teammate in an argument seems undignified and stupid of an injury to nurse for future games on topics like...romance and friendship.

“I'm pretty sure someone will get hurt at this rate,” Hoshiumi hums. “So we'll split up.”

“Me and the broccoli child will handle Sakusa,” Atsumu is quick to volunteer.

“Wait why?” Chigaya hisses. “Do you want to _die?”_

“Meddling is my favourite pastime activity, plus our ace accidentally adopted Sakusa and I have to pretend I care about my teammates now,” the setter shrugs and pulls Chigaya by his sleeve.

“And that leaves us two to talk sense into Komori, resident well-intentioned but clueless blockhead,” Hoshiumi sighs. “Don't get hurt, you two. Sakusa…”

They all glance back inside. Komori is the only one yelling, but Sakusa has the look of one who wouldn't hesitate to bury anyone else who dare scream at him that isn't Komori.

“Right. Yep.” Chigaya pales. “If I die, Atsumu did something stupid.”

“What if you did something dumb and I had to cope with an early death?” Atsumu counters.

“Nobody will find our bodies,” Chigaya mourns. “Fuck, I haven't even gone to nationals yet. Please, please, please, I'm begging ya, don't be stupid with me so I can play volleyball for one more year. Then I can die.”

Kageyama watches them with half disdainful and half impressed, wondering what had happened when Hoshiumi was revealing his plans of interfering the Komori-Sakusa clusterfuck. Chigaya, the frightened and pacifistic broccoli, had gone and made a friend outside of Kageyama.

He distinctly has a vague deja vu of seeing Hinata like this once. He shakes himself loose of that, cringing. Hoshiumi catches his eyes and grins. _It'll be right. We'll be fine._

Hopefully. There's a lot riding on this gamble.

 

(Chigaya made eye contact with some other players whose names he forgot or wasn't made aware of, all cornering Miya Atsumu at the vending machine.

He should leave. Like _now_.

“Wonder what would nationals be like if we break the setter of Inarizaki, at?”

And now he can't leave. Great. Fantastic. Bloody _brilliant_.

He is the Avoidance Broccoli. He averts his eyes away from crisis. He doesn't get involved.

But what he hates more than getting in the middle of a pissing contest are people who consider injury as a viable method of fair play. People who want to win so badly that they overcome the hurdle of sportsmanship and injure others so that they have less issues to deal with in the tournament.

Those people are absolutely detestable and it's such a strong hate that the Avoidance Broccoli took a backseat to Calm Eikichi who marches over and smiles brilliantly at the group of boys cornering one.

“How can I help you, gentlemen?”

Miya Atsumu whistles loudly. “Got me a friend ‘ere, boys, don't mess with us.”

One sneers. “One more isn't going to help ya, Miya. You're fucked when you're alone. We're gonna win at nationals.”

Okay. Okay. Chigaya has it up to _here_ with all these false _we'll do whatever it takes to win by the end_ justifications because they're all utter bullshit if there is only blatant cheating to win.

“Winning later by cheating now?” He asks, all breezy and venomous. “You guys spin a complete new meaning to _the end justifies the means!”_

Atsumu whistles even louder. “Damn boy.”

“I don't really care how you want to justify this bullying, but I'm kicking your asses off this camp if I see this again. Now go away,” Chigaya snarls. “Move it, gentlemen.”

“Y’all come rushing to each other like some prince charming and damsel in distress situations. It’s disgusting,” one jeers. “What are you, _gay_?”

“Fucking faggots, all banding together,” one spits.

There is distinct red in his vision and by the sharp intake of breath by Miya's side, it is going very south.

“No,” Chigaya throws an arm out. “You can't. I'll get someone else. Do not move. None of you throw a fist, or all of us will get booted off this camp.”

Atsumu meets his eyes defiantly. “I wanna have a criminal history by the time I hit third year.”

“No. Stay. Be good. I'm getting Kageyama.” He swivels over to the group of boys, face stormy. “I hope you are aware that injuring a seeded player to nationals is a foul against the institution of the Japanese National Volleyball Spring High Tournament and if I were you, I'd be more careful not to piss us off lest we report you and get your team taken off the roster at national.”

Atsumu barks out a loud peal of guffaw. “Serves yer right, mates! Serves ya right!”)  


Komori doesn’t know what had become of his Friendship Schemes, but it’s falling together quite nicely. He is not at the direct focus of it, but he is exerting somewhat of an influence, an unseen force drawing four of the most hard-headed and frankly too different to be pitted in the same room together players.

It’s miraculous. Almost enough to distract him momentarily from a seething Sakusa stalking nearby.

Kageyama picked up this cute little habit of hovering near him when he perceives that a danger is to befall onto him. It’s terribly cute, very watchdog-like and he appreciates the concern.

However, that leaves no room for Komori to corner Sakusa into a follow-up confrontation. And if that closure doesn’t happen soon, someone will be nailed in the face with a Fuck Off I Hate Komori™ shot, freshly delivered by yours truly.

How to prevent that, how to evade the flexible two man unit that manage to stretch and keep an eye on his potential escape.

It’s not a desirable outcome. He has the captain to report back to. He doesn’t want to come back with an assault statistic and a juvenile criminal on hand.

He glances at Kageyama and at Hoshiumi, who’s acting as failsafe if things go skipping hell in a handbasket. Miya Atsumu and Chigaya Eikichi are nowhere to be seen about and just his luck, neither is Sakusa anywhere in sight.

It's almost like they don't want him to fight any further with Sakusa. It's cute and utterly appreciated, _but now is a terrible time._

“Boys,” he sighs. “I realised what you're doing and I appreciate it.”

“Clearly you don't,” Kageyama points out. “Because otherwise we wouldn't be doing this.”

“What do you -” he doesn't have time to ask when a group of boys wander by them, sneer on their faces.

They must have done something to light the immediate short fuses of Kageyama and Hoshiumi collectively for the boys to bare teeth and hiss at them.

Sakusa breezes in as well, eyes entirely cold, and marches over to Komori. He’s outside of the gym before he could ask _why_ or _wherefore am I being frog-marched to the beat of your bullshit?_ with the peanut alliance waving at him from both inside the outside of the gym.

 

(Kageyama waits for the two pining pair to leave and collapses onto the floor.

“Whatcha told him?” Hoshiumi glances at the Sakusa Inquisition Squad.

“The usual,” Atsumu smiles beatifically.

“I don’t trust your usual,” Hoshiumi’s stare turns immediately flat.

In a move that even Kuroo-san would approve of, Atsumu clutches the right side of his chest, face devoid of expression. “Ow,” he states, all syllables clearly enunciated, “you wound me. In the feels. Look. Even my heart is hurt.”

Chigaya barely has time to throw himself at Hoshiumi, lest blood actually gets spilled and they’re all sent packing home.

 _“That’s not where your heart is, asshole!”_ Hoshiumi can be heard roaring.

“That’s precisely the point of the joke!”)

  


Since young, whenever they have a fight, it wouldn’t last more than twenty four hours. They flirted with that boundary once in first year middle school, where Sakusa strained his shoulder in a foolhardy attempt to expedite the spin on his spikes and Komori refused to speak to him for nearly a day. They didn’t share a class then despite going everywhere together and Komori had perfected his Cold Shoulder to peak Siberian winter, going so far as to not walking Sakusa to classes and preventing Sakusa from having lunch with him. It was strenuous and practice was when Peak Wintry Jon Snow was going to make an entrance, there would be snow everywhere and Let it go would blast in the background. Snowflakes would drop from the ceiling and Sakusa would become a snowman upon eye contact with Sakusa.

Theoretically, that was the scenario inside his head. However, workaholic Sakusa Kiyoomi, the guy that punches and kicks and pinches people when they ask him to leave the gym before contacting Komori to strong-arm him out of there, _that_ Sakusa willingly sat down during practice and shuffled over to Komori, head bent. Middle school days were the blessed years where he was taller and faster than his childhood friend.

Sakusa murmured to him, clear as a wintry morning - “I’m sorry I made you worry and consequently mad. I’ll sit today’s practice and go see someone. Walk me there?”

Komori curse his bleeding soft heart until this very day, at sixteen years of age. The Sakusa of that day looked genuinely remorseful that he had worried his best (only and childhood) friend to the point of silence and Cold Shoulder, both extremely difficult for Komori to execute because he has a heart of eternal summer and easy to forgive nature. Plus, he loves the sound of his own voice too much to not talk someone’s ears off and he went radio silent on Sakusa, his one and only victim.

Yeah. He was _mad_. But he’s also easy to forgive. Thus the timer on Deteriorating Friendship of Kiyoomi and Motoya stopped at 23 hours and 48 minutes and they went back to how they were before the fight.

Right now, Sakusa Kiyoomi is lightly encasing Komori’s wrist in his palm, rough and calloused from countless volleyball spikes. This is warm. This is familiar. This is just Kiyoomi back at his bullshit and apologising before dinner.

Komori knows to wait. When Sakusa coughs out an apology, there should be no rushing him before he has grasps on the words he needs.

“Upon recent events,” Sakusa coughs, “I have come to realised that my actions had been...unsavoury.”

“Nope,” Komori prolongs the ‘p’, twisting his wrist out of Sakusa’s hold. “Try again.”

“I’m sorry I was being unreasonable and affecting our overall experience at this camp?”

“Okay not the best apology you could hack out, but it’ll do,” he sighs, heart and soul ready to forgive the instance the trembles from Sakusa’s fingers hum on his skin.

Sakusa snaps his head up. “What? No, I have more. Listen, wait, I’m sorry the way I said things made you upset and how I communicated it came across, and I was being selfish in monopolising you, but I’m not apologising for feeling the way I do. I get jealous and you’re the closest to me. You’re my partner and I want the childish reassurance that we come as an inseparable pair.”

Komori laughs in his face. Sakusa’s entire expression freezes and shuts down, the downward turn of his brow dipping even further down, his two moles drooping.

He doesn’t even bother with any explanations - between the two of them, he is dreadful with words despite speaking so much - and throws his arms around Sakusa’s neck, grinning as his toes lift his entire frame up to match his friend’s eyes.

“Silly Ki-chan,” he grins. “Why would I ever let anyone come between us? You’re irreplaceable. There is simply no one else for me. It’s always been you.”

Off to the side, he realises that it sounds awfully suggestive of something _beyond,_ but he’ll cross that bridge when he gets there. Sakusa immediately holds onto his back and shoulder blades, gripping tightly so that he won’t topple backwards, all the while making consistent eye contact and processing all his words.  

“Uh,” the infallible Sakusa blinks, “right.”

“Use your words, Kiyoomi.”

“You only use that tone of voice when you know it’ll get a rise out of me,” Sakusa frowns, tacking on a usually admonishing, “Motoya.”

Sufficient to say, things are back to how they were when dinner arrives that day.

  


(“So did you work out your feelings? Am I invited to your wedding?” Hoshiumi corners Sakusa after his bath, shy of Komori entering.

“Don’t be delusional,” the ace snorts. “We’re far from that.”

“Then what’s got you all sparkly happy?” The other boy frowns.

“Nothing,” Sakusa’s face indicates exactly that: nothing. He pulls up his mask and puts a foot back, eyes to the ground.

“Thank you, Hoshiumi,” he tells the ground and their socked feet, but hey, they’re getting there. “If there is a wedding, I’ll invite you.”

“What the fuck does that even mea-” he complains but the other boy had already walked away, his eyes closed. Hoshiumi can hear Komori further along the corridor, intercepting Sakusa’s trek back to the dorm.

Speaking of which, Sakusa was sort of...smiling when he pulled up his mask?

“You’re seeing things, Kourai,” he mutters to the dark. “Gotta go call the bae, otherwise he’ll spam call.”)   

 

The coach announces that they’ll be having semi-serious matches, then promptly dumps Uchida, Komori, Kageyama, Hoshiumi, Miya, Sakusa and Kondou in one team. Chigaya is sadly separated from them with negative reassurance that he’ll be unscathed and granted mercy from this match. There is no grounds for tentative friendship for these volleyball maniacs. It's all _win win win_ for them.

“You’ll swap positions to the one you normally play,” the Big Man tells them.

“That’s not really much of a reassurance. They’re all ridiculously overpowered on that side. All versatile players.This is like, a pebble that they all can step over at no inconvenience to their day. _Fuck me sideways._ ”

At the team huddle, Hoshiumi, Sakusa and Kageyama all made sure to glare sufficiently at Uchida so that he gets the message. Komori, Blockhead of All, got the message, so there shouldn’t be any issue with communicating _watch the back of your head for my serves_ clear and across.

While they want to win, the more urgent matter of _how_ they can dent Uchida's body and mind needs immediate planning.

“Ball to the back of his head, come on,” Atsumu whines.

“Absolutely not,” Sakusa refutes.

Hoshiumi is quick to volunteer. “Do it and make it look like an accident.”

“Okay, I will pay that,” the ace points at Atsumu. “Not too obvious, but enough to scare the scum shitless so that they won’t even have thoughts of being disgusting homophobes and cheaters again.”

“Oh my god Sakusa-san,” Atsumu brightens. “They’re homophobes who cheat at volleyball! That’s like, two types of people that you hate the most shoved into a collective mass of teenage boys’ brains and lanky bodies.”

“Oof,” Hoshiumi helpfully commentates. “I will send prayers for their speedy recovery.”

“Why are you three plotting someone’s death via brain damage?” Komori frowns, cutting in through their circle. “Don’t give me those wide eyed puppy looks, I can hear you all. No. Atsumu, get off the court, you’re a libero. You three,” he tells the back of Kageyama’s head, “behave.”

Kageyama makes an affronted noise. He actually wasn’t planning on a serve to the back of the head. He was simply going to trip ankles and send bad tosses! That’s not murder, it’s assault. Less jail time!

Komori just gives them all a very flat and unimpressed look. They all wilfully ignore it.

  


Two rotations after, and Kageyama is at the back row, standing by the libero’s side. “I have a confession to make,” Kageyama tells Atsumu as the other side settles into a serving position.

_Server’s up!_

“I already have someone in mind, Tobio-kun, this love confession wouldn’t work out ~” the setter sings back.

“Somehow, I’ve begun to call you Atsumu in my mind,” he continues as if the older boy hasn’t spoken.

“Still sounds like a love confession to me, kid,” the setter squats, grin slicing up the left side of his face.

“I think I really came to acknowledge you as a worthy rival, despite the differences in our personality,” he squats too, eyes trained hard on the server and the incoming serve. The guy takes three steps and a jump to a spike serve. Tricky to predict momentum, doable if one is fast enough to back to blind spots and extend themselves.

Nekoma did teach Karasuno some tricks, after all.

“Didn’t think ya can yap this much, Tobio-kun,” Atsumu stretches.

Kageyama matches his grin. It’s absolutely terrifying. Twin Terrors, they’re called, and he can’t say he disagrees with the name. It’s got an ounce of truth in it, despite being an identifier of exaggerated bull.

The serve comes. Kageyama dives under, digging it back up.

“Troublesome pair down there, ey?” Komori grins at Uchida next to him. “I’d say it’s our point next.”

Uchida barely has time to respond when Hoshiumi takes a run up and slams the toss to the other side. Chigaya manages to graze it with his arm, but the ricochet effect is simply too much of a feat for high schoolers to chase after.

“Yo what the f-” Uchida barely has time to breathe, wheezing out that sentence. Hoshiumi and Chigaya exchange matching shit-eating grins and the sharpness of their smiles, reflected upon their turn to Uchida, is terrifying.

“Kageyama,” the blonde never once breaks eye contact, pointing a finger at Uchida and further on, to Kageyama, “imma toss to yer next and ya gonna spike it.”

The young boy hums in assent, jogging back to his spot.

“Sorry for that,” Komori on the left smiles apologetically. “Kageyama has a mean swing. You might want to take a few steps out of the way for his run up.”

Uchida has a foreboding sense that these boys are all messing with him, but for the life of him, he can’t figure out why. Even the two overpowered setters have come to a truce. They can’t possibly be holding a grudge on what he said. It was all in jest. Surely they wouldn’t -

The sound of Kageyama’s spike meeting the floor would be the sound that haunts Uchida in his dreams for many years to come. He saw all his dead ancestors, waving at him beyond the net. His ears buzz, not letting any sound come through. This side of the net hums with congratulatory pats and high fives, with Chigaya tutting his tongue at him from the other side of the net.

Best keep his head down before his team is taken off the roster for nationals. Chigaya Eikichi doesn’t look to be the joking type.

  


They stop for a while, resting before resuming the afternoon match, with new lineup. Kageyama turns to Atsumu, frowning.

“What did you mean by goody-two-shoe before, Miya-san?”

The smile he gets in return is wicked. “Literally that. Someone who’s diligent, honest, and obedient.”

Kageyama has himself a good rival for his position. He matches the grin. “Can’t disappoint you at nationals then.”

“Ay, ya better play well, Tobio-kun. Otherwise I’ll be sad,” Atsumu knocks a fist into his shoulder. The tension between them is no longer toxic, but it is no less riddled with the unspoken will of _I will overcome you._ “Come on, up, I wanna get Eichiki-chan on our side of the net. He’s wasting his potential over on the other side.”

  


Coach sees no harm in swapping Uchida and Kondou from their side in exchange for Chigaya. Looking back, he probably had, and he most likely approved of it.

It's a setup of miracles. There's no plainer way of putting it. They're all ridiculously overpowered - top 3 ace, genius setter who took down another top 3 ace, number 1 libero, starter blocker from top school in Saitama, the strongest contender setter, Small Giant One Man Army.

The other team held no candle next to them. Their last set was aggressively snatched by them, tooth and nail.

“Oi,” the other side, someone or another, grunts. “You're not human.”

They are all slumped onto the floor and hanging onto the net in various stages of distress, exhaustion and defeat. All words are background noises to exhausted bodies and brains.

Chigaya could only wave it aside, too exhausted to even voice a sound. Man, can these guys _play._ They play so hard Chigaya hardly got breathing space between jumping blocks, diving for receives and scrambling to bump serves that he hasn't got thinking space for _hmm, maybe this lineup is saying something about the potential of everyone here._

He's got priorities, and a lot of those were geared towards _winning._ He ain't got time to ponder unnecessary details.

The other team doesn't bother staying behind for a good ol’ sportsmanship handshake, getting up and leaving them to pack up. The coach vaguely tells the six boys to handle cleaning before he too leaves, which is responsible of him. The doors slam shut, removing the final obstacle for Hoshiumi to become one with the floor. Sakusa stares blankly at a spot on his shoelaces, unblinking. Komori hovers near him, fingers carding through the curly hair that won't lie flat. Miya and Kageyama had long eased into a temporary truce for their constant pissing contest half an hour ago, two setters squatting under the net side by side.

“Y’know,” Chigaya tells them. “Y’all like Uchiha Sasuke hellbent on vengeance for his clan. What was even that spike, you human or what?”

“Naruto,” Hoshiumi the Floor Boy, hacks out a cough, “is like some 2011 old-timey shit. Gimme something more current.”

“I heard them call us,” Komori wheezes, “The Avengers.”

“I’m Hawkeye,” Kageyama volunteers right away, not even processing the implications of the name.

“You’re like, the Hulk, man,” Chigaya purses his lips, considering.

Kageyama throws him a rude gesture. It was fantastic finger work.

If only Chigaya is awake enough to appreciate it. He contents with just batting it away.

“Calling us the Avengers team isn’t them likening us to the actual heroes,” Sakusa pats around for his mask. Komori taps his own shorts and pulls out a sandwich bag with surgical masks in abundance within. “Thank you, you over-prepared neurotic. They’re deitifying us to superhero status, because of the composition of this lineup. We have potential and skills. We should be rightly feared.”

Komori’s squawk of _it’s better to overpack than to not have enough, you freak!_ is sidelined by Kageyama’s solemn “I’m in this lineup and I feel scared.”

“Bro,” Chigaya gasps, “ _mood_.”

“If we’re talking in pure similes -” Atsumu begins, the patented Miya Atsumu Smile™  attached on his eyes and lips, “then -”

“Tony Stark,” five boys chorus without hesitation or thought put into the choice.

“Aww, what, guys, I thought I was at least Black Widow material.”

“But imagine,” Chigaya proposes, “you say all the Iconic Lines the Iron Man says.”

Miya Atsumu is a great player, with monstrous potential, but first and foremost, he’s an attention seeker, falling just a little short of Hoshiumi. What this means is that he has an uncanny ability to hear the important capitalisation in a sentence, and his face lights up with the phrase ‘Iconic Lines’, with the intended emphasis.

“Iconic Lines™?” He echoes back.

“How the fuck did I just hear the trademark symbol from just that?” Hoshiumi lifts his head to purely frown at the setter.  

Atsumu beams, wicked smile in place. “That’s because I’m special and I make the impossible possible.”

He couples that with spread open arms, awaiting the paparazzi to bombard him in all his sweating seventeen-year-old skilled volleyball player glory.

A deathly silence falls in the gym. Komori’s perpetual world peace smile strains a little.

“Excuse me,” Sakusa has a knee drawn up, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“If you say so, Atsumu-san,” Kageyama acquiesces faintly.

The silence breaks, with Chigaya and Hoshiumi cackling and collapsing onto the floor, while Komori’s World Peace Smile seeps a little into Subtly Mocking You Smile.

“Bullies!” Atsumu’s screeches can be heard across the city. “You’re all small, jealous, disgusting bullies!”

  


After they've all packed up, all strength drained, Komori, in a feat of pure heroics, with some help from a half awake Chigaya, herds the ragtag crew into the bath, admonishing them of the _boy sweat._ The initial scuffle where Sakusa refuses to enter the baths because others have already gone in and it’s _disgusting, it’s got all these skin sweat from teenage boys, I’m not going in, Motoya -_ sees Komori disinfecting a shower in record time and shoving Sakusa in, all maintaining a sagging Kageyama and a dropping Atsumu plastering themselves onto the wall. Chigaya also heroically manages to not drown in the bath and Hoshiumi resigns himself to a fate of being dragged into the waters, slumping on the step. Kageyama almost soaks himself with his clothes on. Komori has to hold him by the back of his neck until he's good to go in. Atsumu has more common sense in that pretty head of his besides volleyball, taking his clothes off and slipping in the bath. Hoping this one won't die, Komori lets Kageyama go. The boy flops onto the water face first, then emerging in long limbs of teenage volleyball player, all loose and exhausted. Atsumu blows bubbles where he's sitting, then dips under the hot water.

“Please make sure they don’t die,” Komori tells an exhausted Chigaya.

The middle blocker, spent, just shoves him a thumbs up, bare flickers of life, slipping little by little into the warm bubble of bath water.

Just to reaffirm that there is life besides Chigaya and to establish the alibi that he wasn’t there when the unfortunate deaths of three high potential athletes occur, he hovers over the bath water, speaking to it.

“Oi, you three, you alive?”

The top of Atsumu’s head bobs up from under the water, bleached blonde strands floating in excess. Hoshiumi makes an admirable splash, a foot kicking up and the black dot that is Kageyama’s head moves, bubbles breaking the surface.

“Good enough,” he sighs, footing it to the showers, to check on whether Sakusa is actually cleaning himself or he just turned on the water and pretended he is showering.  

Chigaya tells him that it’s creepy he considers that a possibility. He shrugs. _It happened before and I’m not taking chances when it comes to Sakusa, he’s wiler than a lot of people suspect him to be._

To Sakusa’s good name, he didn't do anything that Komori accused him of. He showered and cleaned - the whole shebang. Komori was almost proud, except he remembers that being clean is basically a state of default for Sakusa and he's listening to Komori. It's like a double victory. It feels _glorious_.

Komori, then, on top of being able to disinfect places, showers also with superhuman speed. By the time Chigaya and the entourage of excitable idiots emerge from the bath, Komori and Sakusa are already blow drying each other’s hair, yawning by the electrical plug. The entourage of monkeys sag at the door, Kageyama all loose limbs and sprawled across Hoshiumi’s shoulders, Miya with Chigaya tucked under his arm, falling asleep on the wall, muttering among themselves.

Komori is almost proud there were no entries made to the murder statistic that night. It makes him foolish enough to almost hug Sakusa to his chest, though it looks like he's 90% there already.

Sakusa, while not complaining - rather, he nuzzles into Komori's ribs, nose digging into his shirt - mouths a reasonable _why are you being gross and touching me._

“Because I want to pet my Pavlov experiment now and then, Kiyoomi,” he retorts back, still carding his fingers through the boy's baby curls. They're soft and Sakusa lets him play with his hair without injurious repercussions. He's going to take full advantage of it.

“So it's not affection?” Sakusa asks, grin in his voice.

“Absolutely not,” he denies.

The lie sounds very much apparent in his voice as he cradles Sakusa further into him.

 

(“Is he gone?” Kageyama breaks the surface, coughing out bath water.

Hoshiumi watches the door, then makes rapid hand movements for _yeah we're good._ Atsumu takes the opportunity to surface, all elegant and pretty.

“So,” Atsumu hums. “Who's gonna say what should be spoken.”

Hoshiumi matches his hum. “Mutual gay crushes? Tick. Childhood best friend? Yeet.”

“I'm telling you,” Chigaya mutters. “Old married couple.”

“He's so blind that it hurts me,” Atsumu bemoans, sounding like he's actually in pain.

“I was told of it, but even if I didn't, there would have been enough for me to guess,” Kageyama yawns. “If _I_ suspected and I'm blind and clueless, then,” he shrugs.

“Aiya. Love is so painful,1” Atsumu stretches.

“Stop your jinxing, my OTP is going to be canon,” Hoshiumi shushes them down. “I don't want you lot coming in the middle of this.”

“Nobody can though,” Chigaya smiles. At three pairs of skeptical eyes, his smile slips. “Right?”

“Ushiwaka?” Kageyama lifts his head, squinting. “Sakusa-san called him Wakatoshi.”

“Nah kid,” Atsumu waves him away. “Redhead middle blocker, number 3 or something, he's onto eagle one.”

“His codename is Currently Doing That,” Hoshiumi cackles into his fist. “Don't worry about Ushiwaka. He's dead set on his blocker. So is Sakusa, even if you have one functioning eye.”

“You both played him before?” Chigaya quirks his brows.

“And defeated him,” Atsumu grins lazily. “His team's great, but ours is just better.”

“Man, national players are scary,” Chigaya groans. “We’re gonna be back next year and usurp y’all though, wait for it.”

“All challengers are welcome,” Atsumu and Hoshiumi eyes hold the same gleam as they share matching smirks.

“I hate you both,” Chigaya tells them.

“Urgh, I better be invited to these two’s wedding,” Hoshiumi stretches.

“Invitation? Imma crash it either way, squirt,” Atsumu stretches.

“That sounds like grounds to ban you from the reception area,” Chigaya yawns. “Not that Sakusa-san wouldn’t do it from the first moment he tells anyone that there is a wedding.”

“You’re just all short and jealous people and I don’t want to see you unless at nationals!”

“Pipe down,” Hoshiumi groans. “So loud.”

Kageyama sinks down to the water again, gurgling in the bathwater.

Project Interference: Success)

 

**Author's Note:**

> and we will never know what atsumu and chigaya told sakusa to get him to hack out an apology to komori 
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/jarofactonbell), [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/jenny_benny) and consider [the fact that I am poor and here is a kofi link](https://ko-fi.com/jarofactonbell)  
> 


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